


The Price of Devotion

by Pureauthor



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 07:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12228786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pureauthor/pseuds/Pureauthor
Summary: "I'll always be there for you, Alm. No matter what happens. You know that, right? I won't leave you. I won't forsake you. As long as you'll let me, I'll always be by your side. Always."





	The Price of Devotion

The Price of Devotion

* * *

*plants flag on the 'I write a whole lot about Faye and I don't plan on stopping' hill*

I had this story idea in mind from pretty much immediately after I started playing Shadows of Valentia, but it took a while for me this to crystallize into something I want to write.

In some vague way, I consider this a companion piece to 'A Road Less Travelled'. But this should also work perfectly fine as a standalone.

Anyways I hope y'all find this a compelling read.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Faye clutches her staff, the handle slick with blood, and gasps for breath as the battle continues to rage around her. Her heart pounds in her chest, and her lungs burn.

She wipes at the sweat that is pouring down her face, and her hand comes away bloody. A wound she had taken earlier. She hadn't even noticed. Her ears ring with the clash of steel against steel, and all around her are screams of rage and pain.

A flash of movement.

A soldier rushes at her and she dodges only just in time. She stumbles backwards hastily, trying to give herself some space.

The man is taller than her, and his sneer is cruel. These are trained soldiers she's fighting. Men who have made a career out of warfare.

She is a village girl, experienced only in planting crops and tending fields.

_What am I doing here?_

But that thought is answered even as she asks it. She sees a flash of green hair amidst the melee, and her gaze hardens as she tightens her grip on her staff.

Alm had chosen to come here. This fort, this battle, the decision to try to rescue captured Deliverance soldiers.

It had been Alm's choice. And so it was Faye's too.

_I'm here to help Alm._

_Whatever he needs me to do. Whatever he wants me to do._

She feels the surge of magic that floods her body. As the soldier charges, she moves to the side, and power arcs from her hands.

The soldier falls to the ground, dead.

Faye doesn't spare him a second glance. She steps over his corpse, rushing towards where she had seen Alm last.

_If it's for Alm's sake. I'll do it._

“Just say the word, Alm.” She tells him later on, after the battle has ended and they're resting in the fortress. “I'll fight for as long as need be, and I'll kill anyone you want me to! No problem!”

There's a pause before he offers a smile that does not quite reach his eyes, and thanks her in a quiet voice.

That night, Faye goes to sleep hoping to dream of Alm, and not blood-soaked fields under a burning sky.

* * *

When Faye hears that Celica had suddenly appeared out of the blue and met up with Alm, she feels her gut clench. She remembers the quiet girl with wavy red hair and a demure smile. She remembers Alm speaking about her during lazy, carefree days when they were still children, wondering where she had gone off to. And she remembers feeling uneasy and vaguely dissatisfied whenever he said her name.

_It's been seven years, Alm. Why do you still care so much?_

_Why can't you let her go?_

And when she hears that the meeting had gone badly, that Celica had stormed off in tears and that Alm had appeared dazed and confused after the argument, Faye is torn. She's not sure whether to feel angry that Celica had trampled over Alm's feelings, or relieved that... well, that the two of them weren't that compatible after all. A feeling of hope she dares not name flares in her heart

“Don't feel too bad, Alm,” she says to him that evening, as the sun dips in the horizon and casts the world in a fiery glow. “You've been apart for seven years; it's natural you wouldn't see eye to eye.”

He doesn't respond, doesn't look at her. She remembers the look on his face when he had just set out from Ram – filled with determination and purpose. Now he seems confused and lost, a boy set adrift in the harsh world, and Faye swallows hard.

“Don't worry. Even if she doesn't understand, there are others who do. People you've been with all this while... people who know you. And know what you've gone through.”

 _Trust me. Trust **me.** Even if everyone else turns against you, even if everyone else abandons you, I won't. I'll stand by you no matter what happens. _ She stares at him, uttering a silent plea she cannot give words to.

_I'll do whatever you need me to._

_You know that, right? Alm?_

Alm doesn't reply for a long moment, and Faye almost wonders if he heard her at all, so wrapped up in his cloud of doubt as he is. But then he nods and though his smile is troubled, he makes an effort for her, regardless.

“... Thanks, Faye.”

He walks away and she stands there, staring at his back and she feels her gut churn yet again.

* * *

The first time she jolts awake in the dead of the night, covered in a cold sweat and panting for breath, she wonders if the nightmares will continue to plague her for the rest of the war – and beyond.

The third time that happens, she realizes she can't go on like this. Her movements during the day feel strained and sluggish, a headache plagues her from dawn to dusk, and Kliff mentions offhandedly that she looks dreadful with the bags under her eyes.

When Alm talks to her, she laughs and tries to play it off as casually as possible.

“It's no big deal,” she says as she scrambles to find a reason, an excuse, _something_ that won't let him catch on to the truth of the matter. “I guess after you smiled at me at dinner last night I had some trouble going to sleep after that.”

_I can't falter. Not in front of Alm._

“Look, if you don't feel up to it, you can sit the next battle out, you know?” He rubs the back of his head, and Faye stiffens. “It's not a big operation, so it's fine if less people take the field for this one.”

“No, it's fine!” she blurts out. “I already drank a bunch of tea, and I'm ready to go! Just let me know what you need me to do!”

He's obviously worried about her (and she's pleased at the naked concern that shows on his face. Alm has always been a caring soul) but she can't let herself be distracted. She needs to be on the field. She needs to be by his side.

The next village they stop in is big enough to house an apothecary and Faye slips away to visit it as soon as she is able. The person manning the place furrows his brow in concern when he sees the amount of herbs that Faye wants to buy.

“Is this all for you alone, miss? I can't recommend taking these every night for any extended period of time.”

“Well, desperate times,” she says with a shrug, “there's a war on, after all.”

The man is obviously uneasy but times are bad and Faye's purse is heavy – the result of months of fighting under the banner of the Deliverance. He makes the sale, muttering that it's against his better judgement as he does so, and Faye leaves the store, her satchel bouncing at her side.

That night, she boils the bitter herbs and forces it down her throat. She _needs_ a night of uninterrupted sleep, no matter how that's actually achieved.

After that, everyone seems to take it at face value that she's gotten used to all the fighting and can now sleep restfully. Everyone except Kliff, who stares at her with a troubled gaze and folded arms. But he never brings the matter up directly before her, and for that she's grateful.

* * *

Back in the village, Faye had never been very interested in magic. It had been an abstract issue – she knew it existed and she knew its effects, but the mechanisms and underlying logic of the arcane were alien to her. She'd glanced through Kliff's books once, and even the tomes he said were 'for beginners' had been beyond her grasp, unfamiliar terms and obtuse calculations covering page after page.

After joining the Deliverance though, it had been made known to her that she had an affinity for divine magics, and if she so chose, she would be able to pursue the path of a healer. The thought had gladdened Faye – she knew that she wasn't as good a swordfighter as Gray and Alm, so this provided her a unique niche, _something_ she could do that could help him.

But the first time she had cracked open a spellbook and attempted to study the casting of healing magic, she was once more bewildered by the barrage of words and rules that she couldn't make heads or tails of.

But she persevered. She had to.

_If it's for Alm's sake..._

She jotted down notes, tried to put theory into practice, and spent long hours honing her magic.

Her failed attempts at casting fizzled in the night air, or created blowback surges that sent fiery pain up her arm, or simply vanished into nothing.

Slowly, but surely, she began to learn. She mastered one spell, and then two.

It's not enough. It's never enough. There's always more she can be doing, more magic to learn, more ways for her to help Alm on and off the battlefield.

“You push yourself too hard,” Silque says to her as she tends to the wounds on Faye's arm. She had been trying for a more powerful spell that day, and failure had resulted in a small explosion – and burn marks all along her arm.

Silque's admonishment is gentle, but Faye still feels the sting of her rebuke and she ducks her head.

“I need to get stronger,” she says in response, refusing to meet Silque's gaze. “It's the only way I have to help Alm – to help everyone.”

“You won't be any help to him either if you burn yourself out.”

“I know. And I won't.” This conversation isn't new – Silque has been trying to dissuade her from burning the midnight oil ever since Faye had accepted her offer of friendship.

There's a sigh from her friend, and when Silque stands and leaves the room Faye briefly wonders if her brusque replies have offended her somehow. But she returns shortly, one hand clutching onto a steaming mug.

“Here,” she says as she offers the mug to Faye. “Drink.”

The tonic is warm, with a pleasantly sour taste to it, and she finds herself draining the mug.

“Thanks, Silque,” she finally says as she sets the mug back down.

Silque manages a tired smile. “If I cannot dissuade you, then the next best thing I can do is to help make the journey an easier one.” It's only then that Faye notices that in addition to the mug, Silque is carrying several books under her arm.

“Silque?”

“Would you allow me to study alongside you? I admit I am not where I should be either in my prowess with magic. I believe doing this would be a boon to the both of us.”

Faye smiles and nods. “Yes, that'd be great. Thanks, Silque.” She's not foolish enough to believe that she would really be able to help Silque with anything – Silque is offering to be her tutor in a way that hopefully won't hurt her pride – not that Faye has ever particularly cared about something like that.

The night wears on, and the two of them continue their quiet studies.

* * *

_I should tell him._

It had been a scant few days since they crossed Rigel's border. They had just seen off a large assault from the Rigelian prince, and the Deliverance as a whole had paused to lick its wounds while they fortified their position.

But Alm hadn't stayed with the army. Taking a smaller task force with him, he'd struck out for Fear Mountain, chasing down a worry he could not give a name to. Faye had followed him, secretly glad that he considered her trustworthy to be part of this smaller group – his inner circle. There had been hard fought fights against the ruler of the mountain – but she had been defeated, and the manor with its prisoners reclaimed.

_I know now isn't the best time, but..._

She's walked alongside Alm for so long now. Ever since he had set out from the village, forever and a lifetime ago. He had been brimming with energy then, and sometimes it had seemed like it took everything she had just to keep up with him. She had done it, of course, pushed herself so that she could walk by his side.

But as she walks and fights alongside him, heals him of his wounds, strikes down those he calls his enemies, she can't help but feel – no matter how much she quickens her pace, no matter what she does – Alm keeps moving further away from her.

His commands the army with a loud, clear voice. He meets with Sir Clive and Sir Lukas daily for discussions on strategy and tactics, planning their next moves. Every day, he grows more into the champion that the Deliverance needs him to be. The role fits Alm like a glove.

It's hard not to draw the conclusion that Alm is finding his place in the world.

That this is where he's _meant_ to be.

She'd always had a dream, ever since young. She would spend countless hours replaying it in her mind, tweaking details here and there, until it was so vivid and perfect she could almost believe it to be true for a brief moment.

The two of them, in a cottage they had built together. The laughter of children's voices, the smell of something hot and delicious simmering in a pot. A family, surrounded by love.

That dream sustains her, even now. On cold nights, where Faye lies huddled up in her blankets, she returns to the dream, letting her mind reach forward to the day that they return, _together_ -

But it's become frayed and disjointed lately – that dream of hers. The image of Alm, _her_ Alm, living a life of quiet contentment, letting her head rest on his shoulder as they doze in front of a fire, it fits less and less with the man she sees marching ahead of her – the Alm who wields his sword like he was born holding it, who commands the Deliverance and inspires loyalty by sheer force of his charisma and will. The one who's already looking ahead, planning how to help with the reconstruction and reconciliation after all the fighting has concluded.

_I need to ask him. I need to let him know._

She knows, in her heart of hearts, it's already too late. To ask him, and to receive his answer, would simply shatter the last, faint hope she has that he will be coming back with her to Ram.

But she has to try.

She steps through the halls of the manor, trying to find Alm. She'd heard something about them freeing a captured woman from the dungeons below the place, but that had been several hours ago.

Finally, she spots Alm standing in a room at the end of the hallway, and she begins to walk closer to him.

But even as she nears, she sees him looking pensive. He's staring at the wall, a worried expression on his face.

“Alm?” she asks, and he turns to face her.

“Hm? Oh, Faye!” He smiles at her, the same way he always does, and for a brief instant she can forget that they're at war in a strange land.

“What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“Oh, that?” A sheepish smile. “Actually, I was talking to Celica.”

_Celica?_

“She found some way to contact me. With magic, I guess?” Alm says with a shrug. “Anyway, Celica's in Rigel too. She has her own journey to make, and she's trying to save Mila.”

Something about the way he says her name, the way he looks off into the distance, makes her bite her lip. She keeps her face impassive when she replies. “So, she contacted you to let you know about that?”

“Yeah, and also...” Alm ducks his head, and a hand goes to his chin – Faye knows the gesture by now; Alm is worried about something. “She's headed to Duma's Tower. She says that she'll be able to bring the war to an end that way.”

“What?” Faye will be the first to admit she doesn't know that much about Rigel's patron god, but charging straight into the seat of his power seems reckless, regardless. “That's too dangerous!”

“Yes, it is.” He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and lifts his head. “We have to hurry, Faye. I... I can't let anything happen to Celica.”

Something about the way he says it. The naked concern, and worry on his face. All of a sudden, Faye knows.

She knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

She closes her eyes. Nods once.

“Yes, I suppose we should.” She knows the capital of Rigel is at the northern end of the country. It'll be a long, hard march there through the mountains.

The two of them turn and stride down the dark halls of the manor, their pace faster than normal.

“By the way... did you come to find me for something?” The look on his face is warm. Inviting.

The words, her plea, ghost across her tongue.

She shakes her head and smiles. “No, I was just... wondering where you'd gone off to. Come on, we should head back.”

_There's no need to be selfish. There's no point in burdening Alm with my feelings._

_Not when he doesn't return them._

Her dream is crumbling – has already crumbled, without her really noticing.

But it's not about her. It has never been.

Faye locks what remains of that dream deep in a dark corner of her heart, consigning it to a memory of what-could-have-been, and continues onward.

_Alm still needs me._

_And I'll be there for him._

* * *

“Faye?” Silque's voice is curious. “These notes you've taken...”

“Oh, that?” Faye lifts her head from where she'd been scribbling her ideas and formulas onto her paper. “I had... well, an idea. For a new spell. Sort of.”

She raises an eyebrow and so Faye shrugs.

“Okay, see, the Recovery spell is basically sacrificing some of our own energy and power in exchange for granting energy to someone else, right? So,” Faye taps her chin thoughtfully, “what if I made a spell where I sacrificed more of my own power to give a _bigger_ energy boost to my target?”

“While I applaud your enthusiasm, you're not the first person who's pondered how to magnify the effects of the Recovery spell,” Silque shakes her head, “and the bottom line is that it's not safe to do so. The drain in energy is simply too large for it to be practical.”

“Well, I know that much. But there's got to be some way to make the requirements work.”

Silque sighs, and places the notes back on the table. “Why is this such a major issue for you, Faye? Do you think you're not performing adequately on the field? Because I can assure you that you've contributed plenty to Alm and the Deliverance.”

She hears Silque's words of encouragement, and she knows that its true. She's saved her friends countless times already. She's also killed countless people, too.

She's mastered so many spells already. Spells to heal. Spells to harm. Spells that can save allies in danger.

She's done so much.

But it may not be enough, and that's the thought that drives her onward.

Resistance has stiffened as they plunge ever deeper into the heart of the empire. The fortresses are larger, gates sturdier, the guards and enemies arrayed against them coming in ever larger numbers.

And so she can't afford to rest. She needs to be able to do more.

Just in case.

_I can't let Alm down._

“Better safe than sorry, you know?” she says without looking up as she continues to scribble. “I mean, even if I succeed I'm not going to use it as an everyday thing – but if we're in a desperate situation and really need it, then I'll be glad I worked on it.”

After a moment, Silque settles herself on the stool opposite hers on the desk. Faye looks up as Silque gives her an encouraging smile.

“I understand, Faye. And I can respect that resolve. Here, hand me that book over there. I'll see if there's anything I can do to aid your research.”

The two of them continue to work through the quiet of the night.

* * *

Rudolf is dead.

The war is over.

The war has been _won._

Faye should have been overjoyed, delighted. All the fighting, the killing, the slaughter, was _over._

But she's not.

She's not because Alm isn't overjoyed. Alm is in shock. He's kneeling, staring sightlessly at the corpse of the Rigelian Emperor.

She had heard it too. She had been at Alm's side throughout the battle, and she had heard the Emperor's final words to Alm.

His final words to his _son._

She wants to dismiss the idea as ridiculous. Absurd.

But she can't. Somehow, it _fits._ It fits so neatly that suddenly she can't help but wonder how she had never seen before.

How he had taken so well to command and leadership.

How he had proven unmatchable on the field of battle.

How he had always been searching for something more, something greater than himself.

She knows now what it was.

His destiny. His _birthright._

Prince Alm.

She finds herself stumbling towards him. He's not hurt – she had seen the fight between Alm and the Emperor, and the Emperor had barely defended himself, let alone attacked. But Alm is frozen in place, and his sword and shield lie forgotten in the snowy courtyard of the imperial fortress.

“Alm...” she says. Softly. Hesitantly. He doesn't reply – doesn't appear to have heard her.

“I'm... his son. But that means... I've just... I... oh gods, I've just killed my...”

Suddenly, Alm pitches forward and a wail of grief pierces the air. And Faye finds herself throwing her arms around him, holding him tight.

“Alm, it's okay! Alm, look at me! It's okay!” She doesn't even register what she's saying, she's just reacting, on a deep primal level, to seeing Alm in such pain.

He leans against her as she holds him, and she sees tears running down his face as his shoulders shake with sobs.

She doesn't understand any of this.

If Alm really was a prince, why send him away to live in Zofia? Why start a war, ending in Alm coming to kill him? Why fight Alm to the last breath, instead of surrendering?

She doesn't understand any of it. She doesn't know how to help him, how to make it okay.

“I'm so sorry, Alm...” she whispers.

All she can do now is hold Alm, and be by his side.

The wind howls as all around the two of them the remaining Rigelian soldiers throw down their arms, and the Deliverance gives an earthshaking roar of victory.

* * *

The network of tunnels beneath the castle is hot and stifling.

But it's been long enough that Faye barely notices it. And anyway, more important things demand her immediate attention.

The flaming wraith at Berkut's side had tried to attack Alm as the two clashed. And so Faye had stepped in, moving to place herself between Alm and the spirit.

She had heard Alm's anguished cries just as the battle had started – she vaguely recalls that this women was supposed to be Berkut's lover, or something along those lines. She has a brief moment to feel appalled before she raises her hands, and streams of blazing light are hurled forth.

The creature responds in kind, a loud keening shriek coming from her lips as her own spell sears the air. The power behind the blast is incredible, and Faye finds herself buckling from the torrent of energy.

The Witch's powers are not natural. She's seen others like them during the war – women who had their souls sacrificed in exchange for power. But something about the creature is different – and her power is so much greater than the others.

Both blasts fizzle out, the energies used to weave the spells now exhausted. But Faye finds herself gasping for breath, whereas the wraith is unaffected – it simply lifts a hand and prepares to cast again.

_This is the power granted by Duma?_

_What can I do against it?_

Her eyes narrow. Her gaze hardens.

_No._

_I'm fighting for Alm._

_Alm **needs** me._

_What **can't** I do?_

She finds a reserve of strength she didn't know she even had – and charges forward, ducking under the beam of light that lances forth from the wraith. Her counterspell is already on her lips, and as she straightens up again, she releases it at point-blank range.

Faye thinks she sees the creature's eyes widen in surprise, an instant before the blast consumes her.

She sinks to her knees, panting for breath.

Behind her, the sound of steel striking flesh.

She raises her head, and sees Alm standing, his face a mask of sorrow as Berkut crumples to the ground.

* * *

The silence outside the Royal Vault is deafening as Faye waits outside with the others.

Alm had entered alone, and despite Faye's best efforts, she could find no way to break the seal around the entrance, and so the rest of them were forced to wait in silence as Alm sought the one weapon that could slay Duma.

As she does so, she ponders Berkut, and wonders what had driven the man to turn against Alm like that. They had fought before, yes, but that was when they were on opposing sides of the war.

The war was over. And they were family, weren't they?

Alm had been heartbroken; being forced to kill a newly discovered family member had weighed down heavily on him. Even as he continued through the tunnels that led them to Duma Temple, he had been quiet and withdrawn, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Faye can't bear it, seeing him like that. Alm, hurting. Alm, lost. And her, with no way to offer real comfort or help, except to be by his side.

The door to the vault creaks open and Faye jumps to her feet.

As she takes in the sight that greets her, Faye's staff falls from her hand, and she finds herself rooted to the ground in horror.

For the rest of her life, Alm will never speak of what happened in the Royal Vault. It is a secret he takes to his grave.

But no matter how it transpired, the results speak for themselves.

The Royal Blade that had seen Alm through a hundred battles is stained red with fresh blood.

Alm is hunched over, body shaking with sobs as tears pour down his face. And in his arms-

In his arms, looking for all the world as if she is asleep if not for the dark stain that has spread through her white clothes, and the wound through her midsection-

Celica. Dead.

_Celica._

Even as she watches, Alm sinks to his knees, as if he no longer has any strength, and all at once she and her friends are rushing over to him.

_Alm. Alm. ALM!_

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to _do._ Alm has lost his father, his cousin, and – and now this?

One shaking hand rests on his shoulder. He doesn't respond but he doesn't shake her off, and she continues to stand there, not knowing what else she can do.

She hears the muted questions around her – people want to ask what happened but they know Alm is in no fit state to answer.

Silence reigns. For a moment, in the choking darkness of Duma's underground temple, Faye truly feels like she is in hell.

Finally, Alm speaks. His voice is calm and quiet, and all the more terrifying for it.

“Duma... is the one responsible for this. I am going to kill him. Him, and everyone who is part of this deranged cult. I am going to make all of them pay.”

He straightens up, and suddenly Faye realizes that he has another sword strapped to his back. This one glows golden even in the dim light of the torches, and as Alm reaches back to draw it, she feels a trembling going through her body just from the sight of it.

“All of you. Are you with me?”

Her answer has been given before he even said it. Before he had ever set foot in this accursed temple, before they had even entered Rigel.

From the day they had set out together, young, bright-eyed, from the village-

_I'll be with you, Alm. As long as you will have me, I'll be by your side._

* * *

Faye charges through the melee as the world around her collapses in chaos.

Terrors called forth by the Duma Faithful charge at them, and they are cut down. The last few priests that stand before the Altar step forward, and they are slain. Duma, Mad God of Rigel, looms above them – and Faye sees Alm rush in.

Alm fights with a fury that she has never seen before. The Falchion he wields bestows him with power, and his rage, his pain lends him even greater strength. Even Faye can barely follow his movements, despite fighting at his side for so long. Each strike is a hammer blow, a reflection of his own agony and pain. Every slash is a thunderbolt, tearing through the darkness.

He is a demon on the battlefield.

And Duma is easily his match.

He is the God of Power, and he alone withstands Alm's wild advance as his Faithful perish around him. From his single eye, energy lances forth, and Alm barely evades it. Even as Alm stabs deep into his flank, tentacles erupt from the ground, swarming at Alm and batting him away. Alm is barely able to scramble to his feet before yet another beam of light comes from Duma's eye, blasting a deep scar on the ground where Alm had been a moment ago.

She sees the rest of the army rushing to Alm's aid – the Deliverance, as well as the scattered group of soldiers they had found near the entrance of the altar – and Duma slams one clawed foot into the ground. Faye feels the earth quake under her feet and she's thrown off balance – and once the army's charge is halted, more Terrors spring forth to waylay them.

Once more Alm charges Duma, and the Falchion tears a glowing scar across his chest. One clawed arm swipes down, catching Alm and sending him flying. He lands on his back and Faye sees blood trickling out the corner of his mouth.

 _This isn't right,_ Faye thinks as she watches the two titans clash and tries her best to keep Alm healed as he continues to fight. _Alm isn't – he can't do this alone._

Someone should be standing by his side.

For a moment, she remembers red hair, ruby eyes, and a gentle smile.

Another exchange of blows, and both combatants stumble back. Duma is badly wounded; his head hangs low and blood flows from countless wounds all over his body. One more blow, one more good strike, and he would be down for good.

But Alm is also on his last legs – his armour has been all-but-shattered, one arm hangs limp and broken at his side, and he's leaning heavily on his sword. Alone, and like this, it's doubtful he even has the strength to lift his blade for the killing blow.

Duma stirs – and Faye moves in behind Alm, places her hands on his back.

“...Faye?”

“Trust me,” is all she says.

She had studied and practised for long hours in the dead of the night with Silque. Again and again, crafting and remaking the spell so it could be cast safely.

She can do this much. It's all she can do.

Hurriedly, she weaves the spell and feels her entire body tremble with the strain.

“ _ **ANEW!”**_

Energy surges through Alm's body and pain floods hers. Her nerves feel like they've been set on fire, and her coughing fit brings the coppery taste of blood to her mouth. Her legs give way under her and she collapses on all fours as her staff clatters to the ground.

But it's enough. Through the black haze that clouds her edge of her vision, she sees Alm charging forward, catching Duma by surprise. He leaps into the air and brings his blade crashing down.

And it ends.

She is vaguely aware that Duma is saying something, speaking through his death throes, but Faye can hold on no longer. She crumples to the ground, and feels the world spin and grow dark around her.

* * *

There had been a celebration, of course.

Zofia had been freed. Rigel had been defeated.

The gods had been slain. And the land was united at last.

Who wouldn't celebrate in that case?

Alm had attended – no, he had forced himself to attend. It was simply his responsibility. His duty, as the one who had killed Rudolf and Duma, to be seen as the shining new guide for humanity.

Faye wants to scream at all of them to leave him alone, to give him time to grieve. He has lost his father, his cousin, his-

But she doesn't. She stands and watches the farce play out, and she sees person after person come to offer him empty platitudes.

Later, after everything has died down, she helps him back to his room, and she stands there at his side as he weeps.

He weeps for his father that he had unknowingly killed.

He weeps for his cousin, driven to madness and despair by a lifetime of lies.

But most of all he weeps for Celica. Faye knows now – perhaps she had always known, but simply refused to accept it. Alm loved Celica, and now he cries for what he had lost, what might have been and what now can never be.

As she stands there, helpless and alone, Faye realizes.

She realizes that she hates Celica, with every fibre of her being. Hates her from the bottom of her very soul. Hates her with a burning intensity that settles on her like a crushing weight, leaving her short of breath.

Not because Alm had fallen in love with her. Not because she had fallen in love with Alm. But because she had left him alone all those years ago, and had now suddenly come back, only to leave again – this time for good.

It's irrational and makes no sense, but as she stares at Alm and once again finds herself helpless to ease his pain, she blames Celica anyway.

Fleetingly, she wonders that if the roles were reversed and Celica were here instead, would she know what to say? Would she know how to comfort Alm?

The night wears on. Under the pale light of the moon, Faye sits at Alm's side, and holds him as he cries.

It's all she can do.

* * *

The war is over.

The celebrations have concluded.

And people begin to speak of returning to their old lives.

Not all of them, of course. Gray and Tobin won't be returning to Ram. They're part of the Zofian army now. Kliff will, but the way he speaks of the village makes it clear that it's a temporary stop – a chance to settle his affairs before the next big step in his life.

But others do. Luthier will return to studying his magic. Delthea speaks of sealing hers away and finding someone to marry. The group that had travelled with Celica will now part ways, some to return to Novis to deliver both joyous and sorrowful tidings, others to parts unknown.

And of course, Alm will stay. He will now rule in Zofia castle, the new king of a unified continent.

Faye stands on the highest balcony of the castle, and stares in the direction of home.

She is homesick. Almost violently so. She misses the farm, the quiet, provincial lifestyle. She misses the slow-paced, peaceful days, living in a small community where everyone knows everyone. The long days under the summer sun. Times where the most pressing question was what she would cook for dinner.

She sighs, does her best to banish such thoughts, and goes to see if Alm needs help with anything.

She finds him alone in his room, staring pensively at the crown that rests on the table in front of him.

“Anything the matter, Alm?”

There's a moment of silence before he lowers his head.

“This crown doesn't belong to me,” he says, in the most despondent voice she has heard him use.

The second half of the statement, that it should belong to _her_ , is left unsaid.

She walks closer to him, places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Yes it does,” she says quietly but firmly. “You've led all of us through the war, Alm. You freed the whole continent from the gods. And there's no one who deserves this more than you.”

He doesn't respond immediately, and Faye realizes that he's afraid.

Afraid of facing this responsibility, this burden, _alone_.

“Don't worry. I – everyone is with you. Okay? We'll help you, however we can.”

It's then that she realizes. She wants to go home.

But she can't.

Alm is still suffering. His grief still hangs heavy upon him like a shroud.

And so she needs to stay by his side. She doesn't know what she can do, only that she can't do nothing. She can't leave him be.

_Alm still needs me._

And just like that, her decision is made.

And if there's a voice whispering in the back of her mind that maybe it's _her_ that needs _Alm_ , well, it's easy for Faye to ignore it.

She shoves her memory of Ram, of home, in the same dark corner of her heart as her old dream of returning there with Alm. She does her best not to look back.

* * *

The process of unification is a messy one. Almost immediately, dissent rears its ugly head.

Zofians say they refuse to be led by a stuck-up Rigelian princeling.

Rigelians sneer at the thought of being ruled by a boy made soft by his long years in Zofia.

And people from both nations scoff at the idea of a villager suddenly becoming a king. He won't know the first thing about ruling, they say.

Alm rises to meet those challenges as best he can. Of course he does. If it were otherwise, then he wouldn't be Alm. He wouldn't be the person she had devoted herself to.

He wouldn't be the person she loves.

But it's not enough. Once again, something isn't there. A symphony missing notes. A book with its final chapter torn out. A painting with the borders undone.

Alm is overwhelmed by everything he needs to learn. The laws of the land – which ones to keep? Which ones to change? Cultures, customs, terms, everything that is different between Zofia and Rigel has to be reconciled. Taxes, levies, diplomatic relations with the countries around them – it's too much for any one person to handle.

So he won't handle it alone.

Every spare moment she has, she spends studying. It's not the first time she's had to start from scratch – she remembers long nights spent trying to learn magic, and the knowledge that she can do so again drives her on.

Slowly, understanding comes. Numbers and terms that were incomprehensible begin to mean something, to tell tales of how each village, town, and city is faring. When people hold meetings and discussions, she can follow what they're saying instead of simply sitting there and feeling foolish.

She's not going to fool herself into thinking that she can offer advice that's better than the people who've made a career out of studying all this. But she can handle the smaller duties. Read the information, and help digest it for Alm.

Anything that will help relieve Alm of the burden he's facing.

“Will you let me handle these letters, Alm? They're mostly diplomatic well wishes, correct?”

“Oh, these numbers don't add up. I think Dorhal Village isn't sending the correct amount of grain in taxes.”

“Ram just had a bumper crop this season! Isn't that great news?”

At first, the staff give her odd looks. She doesn't have a job in the castle or the new king's administration, not really. But she ignores them and presses on.

She works, and hopes. Hopes that she really is helping, that Alm isn't just humouring her, and that Alm knows that no matter what, he will always be able to rely on her.

That no matter what, she won't leave his side.

Still, whenever she hunches over her desk and sifts through the day's work, she can't help but think, deep down.

It's not her that should be there.

She sees Alm sitting at his desk, head bowed in contemplation as he ponders how to resolve a dispute between two villages that had been along the border, and she feels a pang.

_Celica would have been able to do more._

She knows now that Celica is – was the Lost Princess of Zofia. Alm had told her about it, and her brother now works as a chancellor serving the One Kingdom. And Faye can't help but know that the girl she knew so long ago – she would be able to help Alm more.

Faye closes her eyes, and imagines Celica as she remembers her. Celica from so many years ago, clad in a white dress and yellow headband, laughing as she runs and plays in the flower fields. Celica the last time she had seen her, face pale as snow, dreamlike and peaceful in death.

Neither image fits the wise princess – queen? – that Faye knows she would have become. She shakes her head, and tries to dispel her thoughts.

Now's not the time for what-ifs. There's work to be done.

* * *

Silque had stayed longer than most. There were so many wounded soldiers that tending them to a full recovery had taken months. But once most were hale and hearty again, Silque had come to find Faye, and spoke quietly her of her intention to leave on a pilgrimage.

“Do you really have to go?” Faye asks her. She knows the answer already, but something compels her to ask anyway.

“I'm afraid so. There are so many – all over the land. So many who need guidance, and the Mother's love.”

“Mila is dead.” The words come out of Faye's mouth before she realizes what she is saying. But Silque doesn't take offence to that and instead gives a firm nod.

“And it's precisely why I must go. If the Mother can no longer look to the sick and suffering, then I must go in her place.” Then a pause, and a note of hesitancy enters Silque's voice. “I would invite you to come along, but...”

“I'm sorry,” and Faye realizes she really is. For a moment she envisions herself wandering the continent alongside Silque, and the thought is a pleasant one. “But my place is here, at Alm's side.”

_Alm still needs me. I can't turn away._

“Of course. I understand.” Silque smiles and reaches out to clasp Faye's hand. “Farewell, Faye. You've been a true friend.”

And Faye knows that Silque is just being nice – that even after becoming Silque's friend Faye had spent far too many nights absorbed in herself and disregarding the cleric, but now's not the time for that and so she swallows past the lump in her throat and nods. “Thanks. And – you too. Goodbye Silque. Take care.”

One final smile, and then Silque vanishes through the gates of the castle.

Faye never sees her again. Occasionally, she hears reports of an angel of mercy that travels from village to village, spreading warmth and healing throughout the continent, and she can only pray that it's Silque she's hearing about, and that she's fulfilling her calling in life.

* * *

After the war, Faye doesn't speak to Sir Mycen for some time.

She can't forgive him so easily. He was part of the charade, the grand lie that had culminated in Alm being forced to kill his own father and immediately being launched into a battle against a mad god.

She wants to rage at him and take him to task for misleading Alm – all of them! – for so many years.

But she doesn't.

There's no point.

Sir Mycen serves at Alm's side, shouldering the burdens that the inexperienced ruler cannot. His experience lends credence to Alm's rule, and helps solidify the fledging nation.

But she can see him struggling. She can see the shadows that lurk behind his eyes.

He had been as devastated by Celica's death as Alm. Faye remembers the time when Celica had stayed with them in Ram Village, where Celica had looked up at Sir Mycen and called him 'grandpapa', the same affectionate way that Alm did.

And she knows that deep inside, he blames himself. That for the rest of his life he will wonder what he could have done differently – if there were some way have kept Celica safe.

It is three months after the end of the war, when she sees Sir Mycen standing alone in the throne room of the castle.

He stands, and stares at the empty seat beside Alm's throne.

She walks up to him, and he looks at her. And Faye is struck by how utterly exhausted Sir Mycen looks.

Fleetingly, she wonders if she looks just as haggard.

No words are exchanged between them that day. They simply stand in silence, and she slowly begins to understand his pain.

Things change from that day on.

She can't forget – she _won't_ forget – the many years of lies and deceit.

But he is still her teacher. Still Alm's grandfather.

She breaks her silence with him, goes out of her way to fetch him heavier cloaks and hot drinks when the winter chill sets in, and works to see to his needs.

Things she had done so often back when they both lived in Ram.

It's almost the same.

Almost.

During the long winter nights, where both of them sit by the crackling fire and work on tedious reports and mundane letters, the thought flits through her mind and almost finds purchase upon her tongue.

_Would you be anywhere near as distraught if **she** were here, instead of me?_

She silences the thought and continues her work.

* * *

Spring has just made its arrival, and Kliff comes to see her one grey morning in the castle gardens.

“I'm leaving,” he tells her, without preamble.

“What? Where are you going?”

“Not too sure yet. Archanea, for a start. After that, who knows.” Even as he speaks, he looks off into the distance. “The horizon isn't closing up anytime soon.”

Faye has to smile. For all his standoffish nature, Kliff had never been able to hide his enthusiasm at being able to see the world. She supposes having the freedom to go literally wherever he pleased must be so very exciting for him.

“I guess you were holed up in Ram over the winter, huh?” she laughs. “I know you've been planning this trip for a while.” Her gaze grows softer. “How's everyone doing? I mean, I've sent letters back home and gotten replies, so I know my mom and dad are okay, but...”

“Ram is doing fine.” He looks at her, an odd expression on his face for a moment. “To be honest, until the fall, I... sort of thought you'd be coming back to Ram too. Sooner or later.”

The next words are left unsaid. It's safer that way, for the both of them.

Distance can be maintained, and Faye won't have to say those words out loud.

Maybe she's more familiar with leaving unpleasant truths buried, by now.

“My place is here,” she says instead. It's the closest to a direct statement she will make.

_At Alm's side._

Kliff nods once, his expression thoughtful.

“Goodbye, Faye. Take care.”

“You too.” She smiles, and tries for a jab, one last time. “When you're off exploring, don't bury your head so deep in your books you miss the sights around you, understand?”

Something like a smile ghosts across his face.

With one final wave, he turns and walks off through the morning gloom.

Faye is left standing, alone.

* * *

The seasons come and go.

It is now two years to the day that Duma was slain.

Two years to the day that Celica died.

The One Kingdom has slowly taken shape over the years. Alm's name is hailed by the populace. People have worked hard, tending the fields and making sure there is enough to feed everyone even without Mila's bounties. The soldiers of Valentia patrol the lands, bringing peace and order even to the far flung reaches of the continent.

Gray and Tobin have become knights, proud defenders of lord and land. And Gray had married Lady Clair too, while the list of women trying to woo Tobin is as long as ever.

The scars of the war have begun to fade.

Through it all, Faye remains at Alm's side.

The thought of leaving him now simply makes her feel uncomfortable. Most would say that Alm has grown splendidly into his role, and that he's now every inch the king he was destined to be.

When Faye looks at Alm, she sees a boy with the weight of a continent on his shoulders, and eyes that still bears glimmers of a well-hidden pain – one that can never fade.

She finds him that evening, standing on the balcony, staring in the direction of the setting sun. The world is painted in hues of orange and gold, and she spends a long moment silent, looking at him.

He turns to face her as she walks up to him, and she smiles at him.

“Hi, Alm. Is everything okay? Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head once. “It's fine. I was just... remembering.”

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't have to. They both know what he's referring to.

“I know,” she says. “It's been hard, hasn't it? I... can't even begin to imagine what it felt like.”

She knows that Alm had blamed himself, and perhaps he still does. She still doesn't know the details – and likely she never will – but the haunted look in his face had told her enough.

He doesn't respond immediately, and Faye ducks her head and sighs. “If it were me... I'm not strong like you, Alm. If I lost someone like that... I don't think I'd be able to get over it.”

“I'm _not_ over it, Faye,” he says, and the pain in his voice makes his heart ache. “I don't think I ever will be.”

As she hears those words, she closes her eyes, and wills her fists not to clench. How to help Alm? How to help him move pass the pain of loss?

“But,” he continues, and there's a note in her voice that causes her to open her eyes and look up at him, “I think I'm ready to keep moving forward regardless.”

_...Alm?_

He pauses, obviously struggling to find the words. The past two years have demanded grand proclamations and long speeches. The boy and the king both are unused to softer, more gentle language.

“Faye, I...” he chuckles. “It's funny, isn't it? The whole time, I was looking so far ahead, that, well... I somehow managed to miss what was right in front of me.

He reaches out to hold her hand – _Alm_ reaches out to hold _her_ hand – and it's like a bolt of lightning jolts her body. She blinks, and her mouth suddenly feels dry.

“These two years... no, even longer than that. You've always been by my side, haven't you, Faye? You've been trying so hard to support me...” he takes a step even closer to her, and his eyes, deep and thoughtful, seem to fill her vision. She feels his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper as he leans in, his lips brushing against hers, “for being there for me.”

She should have been ecstatic. Overjoyed.

After all, she had dreamed of this moment, replaying it again and again, a thousand times over in her fantasies. She should have felt her heart swell with emotion, feeling so full it might burst. Tears should have flowed from her eyes. Wasn't there supposed to be some deep sense of inner satisfaction, that she had finally gotten what she wanted most in life?

Instead, her mind goes completely blank, and her limbs feel like they're made of stone.

_Isn't this what I always wanted?_

Alm senses something is wrong – how could he not? – and he pulls away.

“...Faye?” She hears the worry in his voice, the fear that perhaps, he had completely misjudged the situation.

Her response is automatic – she can't, she _can't_ do anything to hurt Alm even further. She smiles and laughs, and in some distant corner of her mind she marvels at how smoothly she manages to do it.

“Come on, Alm! You can't expect to just kiss me out of the blue like that and have me react properly!” The words flow from her mouth so easily – she _does_ love Alm. That hasn't changed – will never change – and now it's easy for her to say the words that needs to be said.

He laughs, and the sound is enough to temporarily – just temporarily – dispel all her doubts and fears. “All right, my mistake,” he says with a smile as he holds his hand out to her. “Let's try it again. Properly this time.”

She keeps the smile on her face as she leans in, and this time she is the one who kisses him. And she can almost believe that it's joy she's feeling, deep in her heart.

That night, she sleeps on a bed of soft down, covered in a silken blanket and dreams of mattresses filled with scratchy straw, of creaking wooden doors that always let drafts in, and the sounds of crickets from the fields.

* * *

All things considered, the king's decision to marry a village girl is met with surprisingly little opposition.

Most are quick to point out that he had killed a god and united a continent, and he can marry whoever he wants.

Others talk amongst themselves, saying that Faye had grown up in the same village as Alm, and wasn't it romantic that she had followed at his side all through the years, up until she became his queen?

Those who do grumble usually do so for less-than-noble purposes; tying their family to royalty via marriage had been an option that was now going to be closed to them. But even in those cases they had to admit that King Alm had never shown any interest in such advances to that point.

The day of the wedding goes perfectly. Faye wakes up a nobody, the closest thing she has to a role in the castle being Alm's aide. And when she goes to bed, she is a queen. Alm's queen.

The dress had been beautiful – covered in red, white and gold, with a long train and an elaborate headdress laced with crimson thread. As Faye stands in it, holding the bouquet of flowers – imported from Ram village, no less – for once she truly does feel like a princess. The thought causes her to smile.

Everyone had been there. Gray, Tobin, Clair, Sir Lukas, Sir Clive, Dame Mathilda... She had glanced to the back of the grand hall, and seen Sir Mycen standing at the far end, arms folded. His expression was hard to make out at that distance, but she had thought he looked proud.

And when they had stepped out onto the balcony after exchanging their vows, the deafening roar from the populace outside had almost knocked her off her feet. For the first time, the cheers are aimed at _her._

That night, when he holds her, when she clings on to him... As she lies there, drifting off to sleep, just for a day, a moment, an instant in time, she is happy.

She hears the whispers of the castle staff – people she had dealt with daily on more or less equal grounds back when she had merely been Alm's assistant. They've never been half as discreet as they think they are, and though Faye has no interest in the courtly gossip it's impossible not to pick up _something_ of what they're speaking about.

“Isn't it amazing,” they say. “Childhood friends, becoming lovers after so long!”

“I hear she helped mend the king's broken heart after he lost his first love,” they whisper. “Stood by his side and helped him love again.”

“It's like something out a fairy tale,” they sigh.

And she wants to tell them they're wrong, that the _real_ fairy tale would be if Alm had married Celica instead, the girl he had lost and then found again.

Instead she remains quiet and continues to walk through the castle halls.

Alm loves her. Of that, she has no doubt. She gazes deep into his eyes, and she can see nothing but warm, sincere affection in them. He holds her close, wraps her in strong arms, and she does not resist, falling into them.

But whenever he smiles at her, whenever he holds her close and whispers sweet nothings into her ear, whenever he says 'I love you', Faye can never escape the thought that festers in the back of her mind.

That those words, those kind gestures, should have been given to someone else.

_It's me, after all._

_It's always been me._

_I'm the one who can't move forward._

_If anyone can't let go of Celica, it's me._

* * *

The next time she receives a stack of reports and letters, it's not handed to her by Alm with a grateful smile after she offers to lighten his load. It's delivered by an aide, and the forms are still tightly rolled, the wax seals on them still unbroken.

It's an odd feeling to be sure.

The reports themselves are nothing new, but it feels – now she can't help but worry over each one anew. Whatever conclusions or courses of action she draws from the information within isn't going to be passed to Alm or Conrad or Sir Clive – they'll stand on their own.

Proclamations, with the authority of the crown behind it.

The thought leaves her numb.

When Alm holds court, she no longer waits in the corners, cooling her heels. Instead she is seated on the throne beside Alm's – and she has to learn how to sit at attention, for hours at a time.

Any questions or comments she has now carry the weight of the crown behind it. When Alm asks for her view – and he's always considerate enough to make sure he hears her out – everyone listens to her statements.

One day, she makes an idle remark to Alm that she likes the colour of the curtains in an antechamber – it reminds her of the capelet she'd worn back in the village – one that she had sewn herself.

On the way back to her room for the night, she suddenly realizes that the banners along the corridors have all been replaced to match the ones she had admired earlier in the day.

She makes state visits now, travelling out on functions when Alm cannot. She christens new ships, visits newly-built orphanages and travels to spread messages of unity and peace.

The people cheer her. Her words have weight. She is now the face of the One Kingdom, as much as Alm is.

She hates it.

She hates the deafening crowds, the jam-packed schedules. The endless fussing about security, the long lists of dos and don'ts.

She always has to wear a mask of calm, keep a serene smile on her face. She can't slip up even once. If she makes a poor showing, it reflects badly on Alm too.

If only she could visit such places by herself, in peace, use the magic that still rests in her to heal the wounded and suffering...

The quiet days of Ram have never seemed further away.

At the end of long, exhausting days, when it is just her and Alm, and she buries herself in his arms and shoulders, the thought she cannot give voice to snakes into her head again.

It's not her that should be out there.

It's not _her_ the crowds should be cheering for.

Faye is a substitute, because the original lies buried and resting in the royal mausoleum.

She is Alm's, now and forever.

And that means playing Celica's part.

She is not Celica. She can never be Celica, no matter how hard she works, no matter how hard she struggles. Never, never in a thousand years, not until the day the sun burns out and the last star fades.

But she has to try. For Alm's sake.

The crown feels heavier every time she puts it on.

* * *

Sometimes, it's just the two of them, sitting in the study, working through the letters.

Faye loves these moments, usually. It's just the two of them, after all. They're free to talk, to discuss recent events and each other. Sometimes he talks of preparations for upcoming festivals, and of wanting to dance with her again under the moonlight – the way he says it makes her heart flutter.

Sometimes she'll discuss the reports they get from Ram, and she can't help but smile every time she gets more news that lets her know her beloved hometown is doing well. Sometimes she says she wants to go back and visit the place, and Alm nods, saying they'll do it when they get the chance.

Sometimes... the discussions take a more serious turn.

“Are you sure about this, Alm?” Faye says as she looks at the edict in her hands. The wording is clear and unambiguous, giving authority to the 5th and 11th armies to move into the northwest of the continent – and to use force of arms against whoever resists them.

All it lacks is the king's signature and seal to be made an order.

“This isn't like ordering troops to defend the coastal villages from pirate raids. This is ordering a pre-emptive strike.” Of course he knows this. He's ten times the military commander Faye will ever be. But somehow, it feels like she _has_ to speak up about it.

“I have no choice.” Alm's face is grim. “If this were simply villagers expressing discontent I'd never resort to mobilizing our troops – but the reports from the survivors all say there are actual armed soldiers and knights among their number. Rigel diehards, I suppose. Either way, we have to stop them before any more innocents suffer – and if that means being the aggressors, so be it.”

“...We've already tried the diplomatic route?” Faye bites at her lip, a habit she had picked up as a child, one that even queenhood can't chase away.

“I did. I sent an armed escort along with the ambassador and if we're going to be honest it's only because of that she made it back alive.” A pause, and a frustrated sigh. “I... don't see any other options.”

Faye can think of one more – Alm, to go himself. To show his sincerity and dedication to peaceful resolution. Perhaps that would be enough to sway them, if nothing else would.

But that would put him in possible danger, and her heart seizes at the thought.

She can't do it. She can't say it.

The suggestion wilts in the darkness of her mind.

Later, she stares at the same piece of paper, now bearing Alm's signature on it, and feels a weight upon her shoulders as she passes it over for it to be sealed and secured.

_Would Celica have found some way to prevent this?_

Faye will never know for sure. Faye will always believe she would.

* * *

Time all to herself has become something rarer ever since she became queen. A precious commodity, to be treasured.

She finds herself spending more of it in the castle gardens. Perhaps its because she feels a kinship with the gardeners who work there – she's also well versed in tending fields, though of course growing crops is a vastly different affair from pruning trees and the focus on aesthetics.

At first, they are wary. The older people remember the wives of Lima IV. Women who were paraded as trophies instead of having any real role or purpose. The newer ones are simply tongue-tied and awestruck at having the queen walk with them.

Gradually, they warm up to her. She becomes a familiar sight to them, and often during their breaks they will sit and chat about the affairs of the town – not as a queen to her subjects, but as acquaintances.

It's through this that she learns that the people have started to refer to Alm as the Saint-King. The man who ended the war between Rigel and Zofia, united both nations, threw down the gods, and even now continues to lead the continent with benevolence and wisdom.

It suits him perfectly, she thinks, and she smiles the first time she hears the news.

The smile vanishes when the young gardener enthusiastically tells her that Faye is also referred to as the Queen of Restoration.

It only fits, they tell her. Anyone could see the king was grieving after his losses from the war. And anyone could also see how she had always been with him, always sought to comfort and help him. She is the one responsible for Alm becoming the man he is – the one who helped him recover from the losses that had devastated him.

And more than that – Lima IV's wives had mostly been seen and not heard. They had no real power in the court. But Faye had come in, and she works tirelessly alongside the king, seeking to better the kingdom, to heal the wounds of the war. She is a marvel, a breath of fresh air in a land that now sees hope for a better future.

All of Valentia loves the king and queen, she is assured.

Faye is silent as she absorbs this news.

Later that day, as the sun starts to dip low in the horizon, Faye returns to her room, fresh from a court meeting. She is dressed in an elegant gown of deep purple.

She stands in front of her mirror, and closes her eyes as she puts her crown on her head.

She tries to envision being the person they claim her to be. Wise, saintly, tireless.

She tries to see herself as the way the masses see her. As a queen.

But when she opens her eyes, all she sees is a little village girl, playing dress up and looking faintly ridiculous for it.

* * *

It's late fall. Over five years since the founding of the One Kingdom.

Over five years since Celica had passed.

Faye sits in her study, working on the latest set of reports, a feeling discontent growling in her mind.

Some of the Rigelian lords had started complaining, citing unfair treatment and insufficient representation in the court of the One Kingdom. Alm had sighed, and started making preparations for another trip north, one that would consume at least a month.

Faye, of course, would remain in the capital, to continue handling the day to day affairs.

As she works, she can't help but feel a spike of mocking resentment at the irony of it. As Alm's unofficial aide, absolutely no one would have batted an eye at her following him on this diplomatic mission. As his _wife_ , she is expected to remain behind and to deal with the mundane everyday of running the kingdom.

She's just about to open a letter of invitation to some gathering or other when the a frantic knock sounds on the door.

“Yes, what is it?”

A footman enters the room, obviously out of breath. Faye frowns as she stands.

“What on earth-”

“Y – your Majesty,” the man forces out through his gasps. “It – it's Sir Mycen. He – he's...”

Faye feels her heart sink.

In minutes she is at his side. She knew that he had taken ill, but it's not until now that she realizes how much the disease had ravaged his body.

He looks thin, frail. _Old._

“Sir Mycen...” she whispers as she lays a hand on him. Her magic surges in her and she resists the urge to use any of it. It wouldn't work, anyway. Far better healers than her had tried and walked away shaking their heads.

He stirs. Blinks, sleepily.

“Faye...?” his voice is so soft she has to lean forward and strain to hear it.

“Yes,” she nods. “It's me. I'm here.”

A long moment of silence. He breathes out, and then a thin smile curls his face. “I'm afraid... it's time.”

“No,” her denial is automatic, “no, don't say that. Look. You're going to recover, and you'll be okay. And – and Alm will be back too and then we can take another trip back to Ram together with Gray and Tobin! You really enjoyed the last one, didn't you? So we'll-”

“Enough.” The one word is enough to cut off the torrent of her own, and she stops, blinking back hot tears. “There's no need... to lie to me, Faye.” His breathing is laboured now. “It's all right. It's... my time.”

“Sir... Myc...” she opens her mouth, and tries to force words through the tightness in her throat. Suddenly, it seems so _stupid_ , all this pretences of formality and titles, and she throws herself forward, holding tightly onto his arm.

“Uncle,” she sobs, feeling tears run down her cheek, wetting his shoulder. “...Uncle.”

One hand reaches up to brush the hair from her eyes, and she blinks, looks up.

“Faye... you... and Alm.” Close, so close now. And Faye can only stare at him through the veil of her tears, knowing that she can do nothing to slow his passing. “Please... be happy... together.”

With those words, he closes his eyes.

He does not open them again.

Another cord severed. Another light snuffed out.

Faye bows her head, covers her face with her hands, and cries.

* * *

The night is cold.

Outside, a snowstorm rages.

Faye sits, staring at the reports on her desk.

The harvest had been poor this year. The people can no longer depend upon the abundance provided by Mila, and they had grown used to it.

Even so, the thought, the fear that there might not be enough to survive the harsh winters is something that always lurks in the back of their minds.

When reports had come in that the harvest was smaller than expected, everyone had sprung into action. Food had to be rationed. Distribution channels to the poorer parts of the land had to be opened. The reserves would be dipped into. Everything was done to ensure that suffering from the poor harvest would be minimized.

Finally, they could say that they had succeeded. There would be no starving villages. Meals might be scantier than usual over the frigid months, but everyone would be prepared and ready to survive the winter and welcome the spring.

The reports telling of their success should have made her feel ecstatic.

Instead it makes her feel hollow.

She leans over the desk, elbows resting on the polished wood, and buries her head in her hands.

She doesn't want this.

She doesn't want the stress, the strain. Living on the knife edge, having to second guess her every action. Making decisions where the lives of people all over the continent will hang in the balance.

Faye has been queen for five years, living in the lap of luxury, occupying the highest seat of power in the land. Her every whim could be fulfilled with a snap of a finger. Any thing she desired, she could have. People bowed and curtseyed in her presence.

And she would still trade it all in a heartbeat for a pallet of straw and a farmer's cottage. If not for Alm.

Does that make her selfish? For not being able to appreciate such luxuries while she has it? Such stresses should be a small price to pay, right?

She doesn't know. Frankly she doesn't care.

_I don't want this._

_I don't want this._

_I don't want this._

All of a sudden she realizes tears are running down her cheeks. She retains the presence of mind to push the papers out of the way before she ruins the ink.

And then she sits there silently, letting the tears flow.

For a long moment, she doesn't move.

“Faye?”

She hadn't heard the door open. She looks up and sees Alm standing there, staring at her with wide eyes.

She doesn't say anything.

She can't.

She doesn't need to.

Alm rushes over to her, and she is enveloped in strong arms. She clings on to him, crying into his shoulder, sniffling and sobbing in a way that is utterly undignified and she knows she can never show the outside world.

“I'm sorry.” His voice is soft. Comforting. “You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve the weight of a continent on your shoulders.”

And if anything, that makes her cry even harder, because it's confirmation of what she had always suspected – that Alm knows, had always known, how much it wore on her, how trapped and pressured she felt. But had also known that if asked she would deny it, all of it, and now he won't give her the chance to do so.

For a moment the wild fantasy flashes in her mind, of her and Alm running away. The kingdom is stabilized, more or less. There are people who would make capable rulers like Conrad or Sir Clive. Would it be so bad to retire now, and to go back to the village, live in peace and obscurity there?

But she knows that can never happen, that duty is carved into Alm's soul like his name is carved into her own, and so she remains silent, like she always has.

She stands there and cries as he holds her, and slowly she calms down.

“Faye...” Alm finally speaks again. “It's okay, you know? I relied on you for so, so much over the years. I want you to know...

“It's okay. It's okay for you to lean on me too.”

 _I can't,_ she wants to say. _I'm the one who needs to support you. Because if not, if I can't do that..._

_What am I even good for, then?_

“I... I just...” she trails off, unable to find the words to express herself, unable to explain what it is she truly wants to say,

“We can't go back to the village.” Alm seems to understand her anyway.

“I know.” She keeps her voice as level as she can.

“And – I have to keep walking this path. For the sake of everyone who believed in me.”

“I know. And I'll follow you. I'll follow you as long as you let me. I promised. I _promised._ ”

He looks at her, his eyes full of warmth and concern.

“I want you to be happy, Faye.”

“I...” she pauses. Is she happy? Had she been happy, these past years?

Sometimes. Brief, fleeting moments, times spent with Alm or in the quiet peace. Drops of sunlight amidst dreary gray.

Not much.

But it is enough. Because it has to be.

Her grip on Alm tightens.

“You make me happy, Alm,” she says into his ear, a quiet whisper. “I love you.”

“Then let me in, Faye.” His voice is quiet, but no less earnest, and warmth in it makes her heart melt. “Don't shut me out. Please.”

She shuts her eyes, and clings on to him. Neither moves for what seems like an eternity.

* * *

She continues to walk the tightrope.

She's never been good at letting go. Not of Alm, not of her past.

But she can't hold on to both. One has to give.

She's chosen Alm. Now and always.

And so she walks onward, feeling everything of her old life call to her as she keeps her eyes focused on Alm ahead.

Sometimes, she wonders if the rope she's balancing on will fray, or if she'll stumble and fall, and she pushes herself faster, afraid of being left behind by Alm.

She's tried to shape herself into what he'd expect of her, tried to fulfil the role of the person Alm had loved once.

It's not healthy, she knows – it's never been. And sometimes she honestly does wonder if there's something wrong with her.

But now she knows that even if she tips over – even if one day her balancing act fails-

Alm will still be there, and he'll still catch her.

And that's enough.

_I'll always be there for Alm._

_And. Alm will always be there for me._

And that's enough.

Maybe, just maybe.

She'll be able to keep walking forward after all.

* * *

**Story End**

**Author's Notes:** As said earlier, conceived this almost back when the game first came out. This is the result of refining the idea over multiple times and versions. I'm still not sure I'm entirely satisfied with the ending. I was going for a sort of ambiguous note but it's hard to do that without leaning too hard to one side.

As always, comments and criticisms are most welcome! Thanks in advance!


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